Screamer
by shamaho
Summary: Takes place after ending of movie. Five years later, Hannibal Lecter comes back out of retirement one last time and Clarice STarling is nowhere to be found, one agent can help him, but getting her to talk won't be easy. (NOT a Mary Sue fic)
1. Chapter One

Screamer

by Shamaho

Disclaimer- I do not own the works of Thomas Harris, which includes characters, places, events or anything within his text. I do own everything else however, and beg that if anyone wants to use my characters, places events or anything contained herein, please give me credit, and if this should be posted anywhere, just let me know where it will be.

Notes- This story was named for the Good Charlotte song 'Screamer'. When the story is finished, I'll post the lyrics at the end of the final chapter.

As my real name is not Sharon Mahoney I decided I liked the name enough to use for my main character. I do know someone with the name Sharon Mahoney, she does live in D.C. but she is in no way affiliated with the F.B.I. or Thomas Harris, any other characters listed are fictional as well as their names, if any name is that of a real person, it is pure coincidence.

Finally, this is NOT a Mary Sue fic, this character was not created for a love interest to Lecter in any way, if anything, they'll be friends, but I am a firm believer in Clarice/Lecter and don't think I could stomach writing a Mary Sue fic. I know most younger teens and below think the word 'love' used is always a clue to a sexual or romantic relationship, and it isn't. I use it a lot in my work and often times for describing the relationship between friends so let's try to keep the Snicker's down, eh? Go get a candy bar and if anything looks funny, take a bite, if the bar is gone by the end of the chapter, you've got some work to do. Not being mean or bitchy, I'm trying to be helpful.

Summary- Five years after the end of 'Hannibal'. Dr. Lecter decides to come out of hiding one last time, only when he returns to the District, he finds that Clarice Starling isn't there, and only one F.B.I. agent knows where she is. In order to get the information out of her, he has to help her with a few problems of her own.

* * *

Chapter One 

An Old Friend

Clarice Starling's home, Georgetown, Washington D.C. Early April, 2006.

* * *

The house had pretty much stayed the same since the last time he had come here, weather had rusted the iron handrail on the stairs but other than that there were no Easter decorations forgotten to be taken down, not that a non practicing Lutheran would hang Easter decorations. He had once thought, perhaps, that she had hung them for the little lambs, a reminiscence of those brief two months in Montana, but he could see now, they still clearly bothered her. He decided it would be best to go through the back, less chance of being spotted. Upon entering the open back door (funny, after all she'd been through she still left the back door unlocked) the first thing he noticed was the unearthy neatness of the house, it hadn't been quite so neat when he'd been there last but then he had read in the paper a week ago that she had taken a vacation so he imagined she had plenty of time on her hands. 

He moved into the back, where the living room was and saw it had been rearranged. The couch faced the opposite way, the back of it faced him, and on it, he saw a woman sitting, dark hair, long and sleek. Maybe she'd dyed it again? Or maybe he was in a world of trouble. Before he could think his foot pressed a bad floorboard and the woman whirled around, he was in a world of trouble, because it was certainly not Clarice.

The first thing he noticed was the click of a gun, she swung up in a graceful motion from the seat, raised the Colt .45, which was always under a cusion in case it was needed, her brave, deep grren eyes locked on his, her breathing was harsh, he could see it from across the room. He raised his hands in surrender, shook his head. "There's no need to raise that at me, I'm not here to do you any harm."

"I know who you are," she growled, her heavy southern accent branding each word. "And I know who you want, she isn't here."

"I had assumed that, please, put it down, I won't come any closer." She was hesitent, but lowered the weapon to her side, stood almost helpless before him.

"Well, well what do you want? I already told you, Clarice isn't here."

"What is your name?"

"Beg pardon?"

"What is your _name_?"

She felt much safer, oddly, so she set the weapon down on the sofa and then paused, took it and placed it on the table, motioned to the cough. "Come over here and talk, this is awkward." She knew it was risky on her part, but something told her he had no interest in harming her, she was always one to follow her gut. He obliged, sat on the couch and so she sat across from him on a chair, pulled her feet up with her and fumbled with her hands in her lap, slightly mebarrassed by her rash actions. "My name is Sharon."

"Lovely, Sharon what?"

Her eyes met his, steely and cold, searching for an explanation, but his own gray-blue eyes did not hold the answer. She sighed, exasperated and blew at a piece of her hair that was in her face. "Mahoney, my name is Sharon Mahoney."

He nodded to himself, seemed to think, and extended his hand. "Dr. Hannibal Lecter."

She watched it, seemed to check it for a razor blade, or even a buzzer, then took and shook it. "It's um, well a pleasure to meet you."

"You're very well spoken, save the pauses, Miss Mahoney, where did you attend college?"

"I went to Georgetown." She said simply, she slowly withdrew her hand and fixed him with an amused, surprised expression. "Forgive me Dr. Lecter, but this is very strange, I'm sitting with you in my living room having a friednly chat."

"Is that so strange?"

"You're a serial killer, a cannibal, why didn't you kill me when you saw I wasn't Clarice?"

"I sensed no danger from you, and I have not killed you yet because you have been as courteous as you can in your state of shock. Speaking of, where is Clarice?"

"On vacation."

"Yes, but where."

"I'm afraid I can't tell you that doctor, I promised her I wouldn't." She let her legs fall, he did not look at them. He decided instead to study her, she was charming, not much but a bit younger than Clarice, maybe 36 or 37. Her dark, long hair was straight, apparently by an iron and some product, her eyes were the strangest shade of green he'd ever seen, deep like evergreen yet soft like a green olive. She had an articulately molded face, strong bony features, a straight nose and smooth pink lips, not thin but not overly thick either. In the tank top and sweat pants he could make out some of her shape, mostly upper body. The fierce molding of muscle showed she was a very competitive person, not one to give up until her body begged for mercy, he had a feeling her physical instructors at the academy had been very pleased with her. Her intellect was also very sharp, so he imagined she was one of their top graduates.

"I see," he managed, coming out of his thought. "Well then, I supose there is no need for me to stay, when you do see her don't frighten her with my visit, just tell her I said 'Hello'. Goodbye Miss Mahoney."

She was surprised by the abruptness of his decided departure, but smiled softly and nodded, stood and shook his hand again. "Well, um, if you're around in a while, stop by and say hi, I won't tattle."

He smiled kindly and nodded, did not respond, but nodded. He left the same way he came, and so Sharon flopped down onto her chair and shook her head. "That girl is crazy."

* * *

F.B.I. Headquarters, employment archives, the same night

* * *

It took Lecter about an hour, but he finally found Sharon's dossier in the unorganzied mess of file cabinets, he sat down, made himself comfortable in the part of the room stupidly unfilmed on camera (not that it mattered, the camera had a bag over it) and carefully opened the large slab of paper with his gloved hands. He read the following fragments and skipped past some parts which did not interest him. 

_Now, let's see._

Name: Mahoney, Sharon P.

DOB: 26 June, 1969.

POB: Richmond VA.

_Blah blah blah, come on now._

. . . . (from brief biography made from some background check) At 22 Mahoney wed rock frontman Jerome Hardsten, thirteen weeks after graduating from the University of Virginia. At 25 she gave bith to twin sons (Mr. Hardsten is an identical twin) and shortly after began training at Quantico, but dropped out for reasons never stated. In 1996, their twin sons, Atticus and Ashton Hardsten were kidnaped and found slughtered just three days after reported missing, both parents were ruled out and when saliva was found in one toddler's eye, the killer was apprehended and tried guilty. Hardsten filed for divorce a year later, citing 'irreconcilable differences', but it was found in trial and proven that Mahoney had been beaten by Hardsten on a number of occasions, two of which occurred during her pregnancy. She again began training at Quantico at 30 and graduated five years ago.

_This goes to fairly recent times, I wonder why Pearsall wanted it._

. . . . (from interrogation when twins were found murdered).

OFFICER FAZIO- Mrs. Hardsten, can you think of anyone who would want to do your sons any harm?

MRS. HARDSTEN- No, no, Christ no. . . . . Do you think I hurt my babies?

OFFICER CROSBY- No ma'am, but we want to know if you have any enemies that would hurt them.

HARDSTEN- Not that I know of . . . .

_Poor girl. _

. . . . (a letter from Jerome Hardsten dated July, 1997) I can't take it anymore, you want to know why those babies are dead? They're dead because you're just another corn pone country pussy, Sharon! You could never be a good mother to them babies and you really have sucked at being a wife to me.

_Hmmm, interesting. Well, time to go._

* * *

Ok, tell me what you think, I need something to go on, here. 


	2. Chapter Two

Screamer

Chapter Two

Responsibility is (and was) My Liability

* * *

Sitting in the dark room of the basement, where Clarice Starling had once worked on Dr. Lecter's case, Sharon found herself reading up on him, including some accounts Clarice had testified to, mainly what happened at Muskrat farm and Paul Krendler's lake home. She avoided feeling sick, reading Clarice's account of the dinner Lecter had begun with her, Paul and his open scull. It was disgusting, vile nad nearly unbelievable from what she had met a week ago. She heard footsteps but figured it was Pearsall, sighed, closed the file and began speaking while taking donw some notes.

"Mr. Pearsall, if you're here because the Lecter file isn't there I'm almost done with it, just wanted to . . ." She looked up in time to realize it wasn't Pearsall, and stiffened noticeably when Lecter strolled to a nearby chair and took it. "Why. . . Why are you here?"

"I wanted to speak with you, special agent Mahoney," he casually leaned back in the chair, his eyes never left her. "I wanted to speak with you about your ex-husband."

He studied her expression as his words washed over her, it went from slightly frightened to totally passive, unreadable. "What is there to talk about?"

"Did he ever beat you, Sharon? Outside of the accounts you were able to prove?"

She was stunned, her mouth hung open ever so slightly and her eyes widened, but she quickly closed her mouth. "I . . . that information was strictly confidential where did you . . .?"

"Oh Sharon, you're just as naive as Clarice, I have my ways, as always, now please answer the question."

She fidgeted, stood and placed the particular manilla folder into the box of Lecter info. "Um, y-yes, he did."

"And you always thought it was your fault, didn't you? He made you believe it was all your fault. Especially when your babies died."

He saw her shoulders tense, she gripped the edge of the box, took a deep breath and went back to her desk. "I . . . . I don't want to talk about that, Dr. Lecter."

"You should, as I understand you never had any therapy after their deaths."

"I really don't think I can . . ."

"How'd he do it Sharon? How'd he make you think those babies deaths were your fault? Big words, small words, the back of his hand? Or maybe his fist and feet?"

Tears rolled down her face but she quickly wiped them away and sniffled, looked up at him. "He would, say things, terrible things when they died, and, um, he would hit me, yes. He's knocked out three of my teeth and broken my left arm twice . . ."

"Cracked your ribs three times for a total of 16 ribs cracked all together, broken your right femur and caused severe head trauma by hitting you over the head with a brick . . ."

"27 times."

Both sat in silence, she looked to Lecter and saw he seemed to be deep in thought, she pulled her ankles up to rest on the desk and keep her skirt on her legs, and after quietly thinking a moment said. "She told me if you should come around that I absolutely couldn't tell you where she was, because she's afraid, doctor."

"Of me?"

"No."

"Then of what?"

She bit her lip, lowered her eyes as she replied. "The way she feels."

"And how is that?"

"She'd not sure." She shook her head, bit her lip again. "It wasn't my place, I shouldn't have told you."

"No, it's quite all right dear." He crossed a leg, fixed her with am amused grin. "So tell me, where do you go now that everything you ever loved is gone forever, do you stay here and save little children from sexual predators?"

She pulled her feet from the desk and crossed one of her own legs, shrugged. "I hardly deal with missing children's cases, Dr. Lecter."

He cocked his head curiously. "Even after what happened to yours?"

"I won't let my emotions interfere with my work."

"Ah," he stood and went to the box, flipped through some of it's contents. "But it seems you already have."

"Pardon me?"

"Tell me, Sharon. How did you feel the other day after I left?"

Contemplative she shrugged, stood and walked across the room. "Relieved at first and then . . . Curious."

He did not look at her as he asked. "Curious? How?"

"I. . . I don't know, I was just curious as to why Clarice seemed so afraid to stay in the same room with you."

"How long has it been since you've participated in coitus, Sharon?"

"Pardon me? What right have you to ask me that?"

He turned to her, grinned mischievously. "Did you want me, Sharon?"

"Should I have?"

"That all depends, are you willing to help carry the baggage."

"I have no sexual interest in you, doctor. Only innocent interest."

"Was it the same way with Jerome? Did you marry him to get out of Richmond, and away from your family's expectations? From the hustle and bustle of ordinary life, did you want the world, Sharon? Did you think with a rock star you could have that?"

She was silent, holding back her emotions, trying desperately not to look vulnerable. "I . . ."

He came closer, was inches away. "Did you think as long as you were free the beatings wouldn't matter? You were wrong, Sharon. No man should ever hit a woman, not in any circumstance, especially when she is carrying his child, that is one of the beautiful things about women, in my opinion, the strength the carry a human life within them for nine months or more or less, and the ability to shove them from your body, out of an opening the size of a lemon, no man, I assure you could do that, and to have the gall to beat a woman in such a state, it's barbaric."

Tears shined on her face, her lower lip quivered and she contemplated running away, running far from what he was saying, mostly, because it was true. She now understood why Clarice was terrified of her feelings for him, and why she had traveled so far away. She opened her mouth to speak but ended up letting out a gasp-like sob, slid down the wall she had backed against to her knees, then sat there, wrapped her arms around herself.

"Why didn't you stop him, Sharon? Did you not love the lives growing inside of you?"

More tears leaked out, and she answered in between harsh gasps for breath. "I. . . I tried to get away but that's when he did it harder and I almost . . . I couldn't run he would have killed me, killed my babies and so I couldn't run . . ."

"So what did you do, Sharon?"

"I called the police."

"When?"

"When I was bleeding."

"And they brought an ambulance?"

"Yes."

"And that's why the twins were born a month and a week early?"

"Yes, I'd been bleeding."

He watched her drown in her painful memories, then bent and extended his hand, helped her to stand. "Sharon, if I help you will you help me?"

"I. . . I can't, doctor, she'd be so upset."

"I would never harm, Clarice. I could never harm her."

Her red, puffy eyes met his calm, claer ones, and she sighed, shrugged. "What the hell."

* * *

A library, Waldorf Maryland. The next afternoon

* * *

Sitting at an available computer, Lecter sighed, typed in http: and once the page showed up, clicked Images and typed Sharon Mahoney into the search box. He waited a moment while thumbnails began to pop up. He straightened in the chair and crossed his arms, when they finished, he looked through them and clicked the ones that were of most interest to him. One of her in her mid twenties after the twins were born, pushing a double stroller. Another one that was studio quality, her, Jerome, and the twins, newly born. He frowned, went to the back button and clicked another, when it loaded, it was a pciture of her leaning against a bed, shoe in hand, black and white cocker spaniel puppy chewing the other end playfully, she was laughing. He clicked the link the pciture came from and read through the article.

. . . sources say Jerome killed the beloved puppy out of jealousy, he denies such rumors.

_Good God, a puppy. They think I am sick?_

(The caption on the picture) Sharon and Claudia have some fun with a shoe a week before her death.

_What don't I know about you, Sharon? What has driven all of these tragedies into your life? First your dog, then your children?_

. . . in 1976, when Sharon's uncle was murdered, her cousin, Clarice Starling came to live with her and her parents on their sheep and horse ranch, where both girls ran away from just two months later, Starling was sent to an orphanage, while Sharon was forced to stay with her parents.

_Bingo. You're easy, you think if you give other people their way, you can get yours but you know now, don't you Sharon? You're starting to realize that to get your way, you have to fight for it._

* * *

"Mahoney, I'm warning you, stay away from that house until we can get SWAT over there with you and special agent Terry, I don't care why you want to nail him yourself, just wait until tomorrow."

Sharon was insulted, in the least, she let out an exasperated huff and swung her arms to her sides. "I don't get it, Clarice was fine when she went after Jame Gumb herself! Why can't I . . ."

"You and your cousin are very different people, Mahoney." Pearsall's eyes stayed on her as he stood and went to the opposite side of the room.

She bit her lip, nodded, glaring at him while it felt as if saline was being poured onto the wound. "I see, she's the big hero, right? She got Hannibal Lecter to open up she gave up a chance at a family, she shot the monster when she couldn't even see him. I train 4 hours a day, I'm stronger than she is, younger than she is and just slightly smarter than she is. You're right, we are different. But you're making me sound like a little whimp!"

"Your IQ's are basically the same, you just study better."

"Bullshit, Pearsall!" She grabbed her gun from his desk and made for the door.

"Mahoney, if you go to that house I will strip you of field duties and you'll be answering the goddamned phone for all I care!"

He heard the waiting room door slam, and sat, lit up a cigarette. He was concerned for her, this guy was tough, and sick, he knew if she went, she didn't stand a chance.

He prayed the girl minded him.

* * *

Review please! 


	3. Chapter Three

Chapter Three

Mahoney In Distress

* * *

Georgetown Memorial Hospital- The next afternoon

* * *

Dr. Anton Pierce grabbed a clipboard from his nurse, who was briefing him on the next patient. A 37 year old female, F.B.I. special agent, who'd gone after a criminal, been beaten unconscious and raped. She'd been found in the abandoned house by a fellow special agent Ray Terry the next morning. She'd regained consciousness briefly, then fallen back asleep, exhausted from the struggle the previous night, it both helped and hindered the F.B.I.'s case against the man, she was strong, their strongest female agent which showed this guy had some real strength, it hindered their case for that reason, she was their best and was down.

"What are her injuries?"

"Mild lacerations on the face, neck and arms, two broken ribs and he um, he bit her, sir, on the shoulder when he raped her."

"Bit?"

"Left an imprint, crazy son of a bitch, they just have to take the pcitures to the dentists around . . ."

He opened the door and looked at her, frowned, she was pretty, the cuts and bruises did not change that. "What did her superior say?"

"Nothing much, just to let her know she 'still has her place', whatever that means."

"She's been treated though?"

"Dr. Fiston took care of everything, they just want us to look after her until she can leave and we have to check her for any serious head trauma."

"I doubt it, these guys don't get much sleep, but let's go ahead and run her through the CAT scan."

"Yes sir, I'll go get it ready." The nurse left, he stepped into the room and shut the door, slid his hands into his pockets, rocked on his heels for a brief moment, then moved to her bedside. "Poor kid."

Her eyes slid open, she blinked and gazed up at him, surprised he knelt next to her. "Hey, there."

"H-hi." She managed, looked around. "I'm still in this dump?"

He laughed, nodded. "Yeah, we were gonna run you through a CAT scan, are you in pain?"

"Cuts sting, feel like I've been hit in the head."

"You have."

"I know that, I meant like, moments ago." She groaned, stretched and jumped, looked with hate at the IV in her arm.

"Eh, might want to stay still."

* * *

Starling and Mahoney's home- 1 week later

* * *

It absolutely drove her crazy, sitting around, nothing to do, no one to talk to. She couldn't go run, couldn't go to the gym and worst of all, couldn't go to work. It was about to make her explode when the back door opened and she eagerly waited for someone to come into the living room, where she was stuck, it wouldn't be Clarice, not this early. It was either Lecter or a friend from the Bureau kind enough to bring her lunch. Her suspicions were confirmed after some muddling in the kitchen was finished, Lecter strolled in and grinned down at her. "Good afternoon, Sharon."

"What do you want? Because you just saved me from dying of boredom, oh my God, are you hungry? I can fix something up."

He chuckled and shook his head, waved a finger at her in warning. "You, madame, are not supposed to move, I managed to get some groceries for you as your refrigerator is barren, and I will be making dinner, I did, however, bring you a video, also, to keep you occuppied as I work, it's one of my favorites." He moved to the VCR and popped a cassette in, waited, and left the room when the black and white film began to play. She was speechless, wasn't really into the old black and white movies but thought _What the hell? I haven't got anything better to do._ Finally the title showed and it intrigued her. "Hold Back the Dawn? Interesting."

Two hours later, the film was over, she'd flipped to CNN, where the case she'd worked on was just being talked about.

"Urgent news, we're all familiar with the "Candy Man' case, which involved the rape and brutal beating of F.B.I. special agent Sharon Mahoney earlier this week, F.B.I. special agent Ray Terry and 30 SWAT team men caught the rapist earlier this hour, in a Memphis drug store, as he attempted to rob and rape the female pharmacist, Mahoney, who is currently at home resting has not commented on the apprehension yet."

Intrigued, Sharon picked up the phone beside, her, did not notice that Lecter was behind her and had watched the bulletin as well. It rang twice, and finally Perarsall picked up. "Pearsall."

"Hey, it's Special agent Mahoney, I just heard about it."

"Sharon, how you feeling?"

"Sore, good, but sore, this is great news though, when'll Ray be back?"

"Probably this evening. You ok there, want someone to stop by and make you dinner?"

"Um," she finally turned around and though surprised to see the doctor, did not show it, smiled. "No thanks, have a neighbor here who's making me dinner. I'll see you in a couple weeks, though, ok? Call me, I go nuts with nothing to do for hours and hours."

He chuckled on the other line. "Ok, hey, if you hear from Clarice tell her to give me a call, ok?"

"Yeah, oh, and uh, sir?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for not punishing me."

"He did enough of that, soon, Mahoney."

She smiled weakly and hung up, turned best as she could to look at Lecter again. "Hi, you ok?"

He seemed amused by the question, knew she hadn't known what else to say. "I'm fine, do you need help standing?"

She tested first, and when falling on her butt, she laughed. "Just, just a little, grab my hands," he moved in front of her and did. "And pull." With a combined effort she stood, but swayed, it had been too fast and she was dizzy, but he caught her and bent his knees a bit to keep her up, so they were eye level, and though terrified, she was also feeling shy.

"I um, if you let go I think I'll be ok this time." Her voice had softened, and deepened."

"Are you . . . sure?"

"Yes, yes I'm sure."

He attempted to let her go and she was fine for a moment, but slipped and fell sforward again, her nose hitting his, sliding across the width of it, then down the side between his nose and cheek. Her breathing accelerated massively and he could hear her pulse when he bent his head and his ear went to her neck, she hadn't intended to act this way, he knew the wrappings around her waist made walking awkward, anything requiring moving her waist awkward. She hadn't been so close to a man in many years, and he doubted she'd ever been treated so kindly by one, his own behavior surprised him, but he needed to get to Clarice. "I'm so sorry." She whispered, pressed her palms to his chest and lifted herself up that way, struggled with her balance and finally managed to walk towards the dining room.

He went ahead of her to retrieve the food, she sat and when he brought it out, the air was so tight and awkward, that she decided to try and lighten the mood. "It isn't made from anybody either of us know, is it?"

He chuckled, shook his head and set it down. "Unfortunately, my appetite for human's has depleted a bit. It's lamb." He set the met down, she looked at the ribcage and knew unless it was made from a small, Indonesian child, he was being truthful.

They ate in silence, he offered her wine but she had to decline, she had a prescription for morphine and had not hesitated to use it. Which reminded her, she was up for a dose right now. After using the table, this time, to gain balance, she found her way to the kitchen cupboard, which contained the little box of meds and over the counter stuff. She took a clean syringe, a bottle, took the cap off of the needle, poked the sharp object through the paper on the top of the bottle, filled the syringe, pulled it out, set the bottle aside and took a piece of cotton. She stretched her arm out and poised the needle when she heard the doctor say. "Let me give you a hand with that."

Though hesitent, she decided she had enough reason to trust him, as crazy as it sounded even to her. "Ok," she handed him the syringe and he poked it into her skin, pressed the cotton over it, injected the fluid, pulled the nedle out and held the cotton there for a moment, then moved it away and bent her arm. "Hold it like that for a moment, not too long."

She smiled softly. "Thanks." After a moment, she let her arm down.

"So," he decided to make small talk as he cleared the dishes. "Why exactly did Clarice go on vacation, too stressed?"

"Well," Sharon leaned against a wall. "She didn't really go on vacation, per say, she more or less went on personal leave, yesh, she was pretty stressed."

"And I take it you're watching the house for her?"

"No, we lived together for a couple months before she left, it wasn't romantic at all . . ."

"Relax, agent Mahoney, I know you two are cousins."

"Oh, well there you have it." She was suddenly uncomfortable. "Why'd you decide to come back?"

He set the last dishes in the dishwasher and turned it on, sat against it. "Mostly because I missed her, and I missed New England."

"And um, why are you being os friendly with me?"

"Well, I like you."

"Doctor, please, you don't have to try and make me feel . . ."

"I assure you, Miss Mahoney, that I would not be here for any reason if I did not like you."

"Maybe you do, but I know you want to get to Clarice." He was silent, he just watched her, seemingly emotionless. "Why are you so desperate to get to her? Why did you offer to help me to get to her?"

"Because I love her." It surprised him as much as it surprised her. True, he was no starnger to speaking his mind freely, but it was an outburst he'd avoided making for fifteen years. He didn't think he could hide it any longer, but she was the last person he'd expected to tell first. "If you should ever learn that feeling, Sharon, you'd understand."

It surprised her, indeed, but it didn't really, she hadn't expected the outburst but she knew his answer before it. "Well, that's a pretty damn good reason."

"You should get some rest. I'll go, but see you soon. Are you going to be all right?"

"I'll be fine, I'm a big girl."

She watched him walk out the back door without him saying another word, not even a goodbye. She sighed, moved to go to the living room and the couch when the phone began to ring, she sighed, picked it up. "Mahoney."

"Sharon? It's me, Clarice."

* * *

Well, hope you like it, please review. 


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